Voicemail
by Windstorms
Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt and there is no comfort whatsoever. :Gen. Pre-series.
_1998_

Dad would be back any minute. He'd left to chase after the werewolf, but he'd come back.

The wolf was still close enough to hear; the wounded creature howling as it crashed its way through the woods. It would be easy for his father to track and finish it off.

Dean clicked the safety on his gun and dropped it to the ground. The immediate danger had passed, for him anyway. He raised a hand to his abdomen to assess the damage and felt wet stickiness rapidly seep through his fingers.

"Shit," he mumbled.

He didn't think it was a bite, at least.

It had all happened so fast. One moment he was standing next to his father, finger tensed on the trigger, and the next the werewolf had taken two long, inhuman strides and leapt right at him. The wolf had knocked him to the ground and pinned him before Dean even knew what was happening. There had been a flurry of claws and teeth and then pain, white hot and intense, had flared across his stomach.

He'd been lucky. The werewolf had only taken a swipe at him before his father had taken aim and fired; apparently only grazing the wolf, but that had been enough to scare it off.

He took a shallow breath, and then another. He gazed up at the clear night sky, the stars, the full moon. He strained to hear any sounds in the forest, but he heard nothing. No owls, no crickets, nothing moving through the underbrush. At least the wildlife had the sense to steer clear when a werewolf was on the prowl; unlike the Winchesters.

He started to laugh, but it hurt so much he ended up clutching at his side and wheezing.

 _Easy, save your strength._

He thought about trying to drag himself over to the nearest tree and prop himself up. At least he'd have some protection at his back instead of lying sprawled out on the forest floor like a fucking invitation to an all-you-can-eat buffet if the werewolf circled back around.

He lifted his head and tried to get a feel for his surroundings. He was lying in a small clearing surrounded by several leafy oaks and elms. The light of the full moon filtered through the branches and illuminated the forest in a hazy, blue-green glow.

He already felt dazed from blood loss; he didn't think moving was going to be possible. He let his head drop back to the ground. He clenched his teeth and let out a hiss of air.

Dean could kill a black dog while drunk and blindfolded - he had done it once a few months back, just to see if he could. Yet tonight a sloppy, careless moment of hesitation had nearly got him killed or even worse, bitten and turned.

A cough suddenly wracked his body, and he could feel blood bubbling up in the back of his throat. The pain was getting worse, his breath was coming in shallow little bursts. He turned his head to the side and spit a mouthful of blood into the grass. Too much blood. He was losing too much blood, too fast.

Dean thought about dying out here in the middle of nowhere. He thought of leaving his brother, all gangly limbs and floppy hair – over what, a stupid mistake?

Dean had never been so grateful that Sam was safe and mostly sound at Pastor Jim's. Even though he had a nasty case of bronchitis, the kid had thrown a fit at being left behind.

- _"Why can't I come?"_

 _"_ _You don't even want to come. Don't you have a Geometry test next week? Perfect excuse to study yourself into a geek coma right here." He reached out to ruffle the teen's unruly mop of hair._

 _Sam pulled back to avoid his touch, not having any of it, and his expression was serious when he said, "I want to help, Dean."_

 _"_ _Yeah, well. Your nasty hacking would scare the wolf away, runt. There will be another full moon next month and another werewolf, okay?"-_

Fifteen going on thirty with the attitude of a pre-teen girl, complete with the ridiculous temper tantrums.

He pressed his hand to his stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood. A distant howl shattered the stillness of the night, followed by the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. Then another. That meant at least three silver bullets had been used. Surely the wolf was dead, surely it hadn't gotten to his dad-

He couldn't think like that. Dad would be back any minute now.

He couldn't guess how much time had passed between the instant the wolf had ripped a chunk out of him and the last gunshots had been fired. Minutes? Hours? He wasn't sure. He didn't think he had passed out, but he wasn't certain.

He wished the Impala wasn't parked just off the road some two miles back. He couldn't drag himself two feet at this point; let alone two miles. He wished he hadn't hesitated when he was staring down the barrel of his gun at the werewolf. He wished a lot of things right about now.

He almost wished Sam were here. Sam wouldn't have left his side, Sam would have stood there screaming after their father loud enough to bring the werewolf back.

He should check in with Sam. He'd promised him he would, and if he didn't, Sam would start freaking out.

Not like he had anything to worry about, right?

He fumbled for his phone with the hand that wasn't currently trying to keep his insides from leaking out of his shredded shirt. He took another shuddering breath and flipped the phone open one-handed. He hit the second number on his speed dial. He tried to concentrate on counting how many times the phone rang instead of the steady flow of blood trickling between his fingers.

The kid was probably sleeping, slumped over his math textbook while knocked out on antibiotics and cold meds. Dean was suddenly, overwhelming glad Sam had something normal to cling to.

 _Unlike me_ , he thought to himself.

The ringing finally stopped and switched over to Sam's voicemail. " _Hi, it's Sam. Please leave me a message at the tone and I'll call you back as soon as I can._ " Totally a teen-aged girl, and if Dean lived through this, Sam was never hearing the end of it.

"Hey Sammy. Just calling to check in. Werewolf ganked, everything is fine." He paused, trying to swallow the disgusting combination of bile and blood down and force his tone into something resembling normal. "Do your homework. Take your medicine. Get some rest. We'll be back by morning. Don't you worry about anything." There were so many other things he wanted to say, and none of them were things he should. Instead he added, "Boring hunt. You didn't miss a thing."

He flipped the phone closed and tried to slip it back into his pocket. His fingers were going numb and his coordination was off; he was pretty sure he only managed to drop the phone in the grass instead.

He realized he was probably going into shock.

 _About time._

Distantly, he thought he heard movement. It sounded like footsteps crunching through the leaves, but he was shivering too much to try to reach for his gun.

He wasn't sure how long he lied there, listening to the sound of something moving closer.

He'd almost slipped into unconsciousness when he heard his father's gruff voice say, "Dean! You gotta stay with me, kiddo."

"'s dead?"

"Yeah, Dean," the voice agreed. "It's dead. Come on now, listen to me, son. I'm gonna get you out of here but you have to stay awake."

"'m trying," was his eloquent reply.

Something heavy was pressing on his stomach and he moaned in pain. "Dean! Dean, please!" The voice was edged with panic now.

He tried to follow the voice's command, he really did. He opened his eyes and saw the hazy silhouette of a man outlined by the moonlight. For a moment, he imagined it was Sam. He tried to call his brother's name, assure him everything was going to be okay, but then the darkness carried him down into sweet oblivion.


End file.
